"Captain, what are we doing here?" asked a new voice. "These…. aliens are our allies. Why are we fighting them, alongside our enemies?"

"I made a promise, Mr. Ericsson." Smith looked at his Chief of Security, and couldn't disagree with the truth of his words. What was he supposed to say? That he had been told a lot of gibberish about the future, and the past, and a legendary Minbari God? He was not sure he believed it himself. He just knew that fighting here was something he had to do.

"I assure you, Mr. Ericsson, that this is for the best. I promise you that you and all the crew will be permitted to return to Proxima once this battle is over, and I further assure you that I personally will take all responsibility for this action."

"If you say so, sir." Ericsson did not look convinced.

"Captain," spoke up Franklin, "the Parmenion is in big trouble. They may be going down."

Sheridan's ship. Smith thought for a fraction of a second, and then gave his order. "Bring us around to support them. At their flank."

"But, Captain…."

"Do it!"

"Yes, sir."

The Machine was in pain. It did not want to hate its bearer. It wanted to love all who possessed it. It had a function, a duty, a sentience almost, and it wanted to guide its bearers to fulfill that duty.

And yet it had been abused and violated. It had been used to kill, and its magnificent beauty had been tainted by the mind of a madwoman, a murderer, a monster.

And now its current bearer, its third in as many days. It can feel his doubts, it can see his self-hatred, his self-destruction. What remains of Donne within it is happy.

He will not be able to control it. His doubts are killing him. He came here to escape them.

Michael Garibaldi screamed, his heart almost wrenched from his chest. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, and his head slumped. He hung limp in the Heart of the Machine.

The Narn bodyguards set to watch over him ran forward, knowing they had a duty, a duty greater than their lives, a duty to see that the rift remained open, and that Babylon 4 returned to its destined past.

The floor became a carpet of electricity, and in the space of a few seconds they all died.

The cavern became to crumble, the planet began to shake, and the Machine began to seek solace in oblivion.

The temporal rift shook.

Cartagia drifted through the Court like a ghost on glass. No one seemed to notice his presence there, and he did nothing to alert them. He watched as guards fought and killed each other. He smiled slyly as he looked at the bodies of nobles he had known since birth. A true house-cleaning, all very necessary. It should have been done a long time ago, and perhaps if it had the Republic would not be in this state. That was the Court for you…. never could do anything right.

He could not see Elrisia, but he was not particularly looking for her. If she survived this it would suit his plans perfectly. If she didn't, he did not care. Malachi was the important one, but then Valo would see that as well. Should he trust Valo to do the right thing, and kill Malachi? Rely on Valo's intelligence? Hmm…. better not.

He began making for Malachi's quarters, casually stepping over the bodies as he did so. From the sound of it the fighting had drifted over to the far end of the palace. He wondered who was winning, but then realised he really didn't care. It would all be the same in a few years.

He turned the corner and came face to face with none other than Valo himself. Malachi was lying on the floor, covered with blood. He reached feebly out to Cartagia, who glanced away.

"You," Valo snapped. "Well well well."

"Lord Valo. A great pleasure. So nice to see you again, but I had heard you'd been killed."

"Aristocratic bastard. I should have…."

"Should have what? You're a fool, Valo, and you'll be dead before the century is out. So will all of us. One giant conflagration of fire…. and you've only brought it all the closer."

Valo lunged forward with his bloodstained kutari, but to Cartagia he might as well have been swimming through treacle. In one swift motion the Prince had drawn his sword, knocked aside Valo's thrust, and delicately sliced open his side.

The general fell.

"Get that wound seen to, my Lord," Cartagia advised. "It shouldn't be fatal. Malachi's…. on the other hand…. should be." He stepped aside Valo's body, careful not to spill any blood on his clothing, and approached the stricken First Minister.

"What a clumsy attempt at killing you, Malachi," he said, in an almost friendly tone of voice. "Ah well…. you can never rely on anyone to do anything important. A simple truth, but one so many people forget. You knew it, didn't you?

"Oh…. I know exactly what you've been doing…. and I can hazard a good guess as to why." Malachi's eyes widened and he tried to whisper something, but Cartagia cut him off. "All it took was a lot of information, and a little use of intelligence. I helped you. To a certain extent our plans lay in the same direction. The only difference was…. you were planning for a future, and I am working towards the absence of one.

"Smile, Malachi. The Court is in chaos. Just as you wanted…. It's such a shame there won't be anyone to rise up from the ashes, isn't it?"

"No…." the fallen noble rasped. "Cartagia…. no…." The prince raised his sword.

"Malachi!" cried a new voice, and Cartagia gave a silent curse to Gods he didn't believe in. "Cartagia."

"Londo." Mollari and his Minbari companion were coming from the other side of the corridor. "Your timing is…. as ever…. impeccable."

"It's over, Cartagia. You can't win."

"I know. I've never wanted to." Without taking his eyes from Mollari's, Cartagia took a few careful steps back. He knelt down beside Valo's body and picked up the general's fallen sword. Valo swore at him with appreciable malice. Good, the wound hadn't been that deep after all then. He had been starting to worry.

Cartagia hefted the sword. A good balance, finely made, not one of these darning needles the courtiers carried. Say what you like about him, Valo knew a good sword when he bought one. It was just a pity he couldn't use the damned thing.

Cartagia tossed the sword at Londo's feet, and raised his own in a mock salute. "You want me, Mollari. Come and get me."

He turned and darted around the corner.

Londo paused only to scoop up the sword, and then went straight to Malachi's side. The wound was deep, and it looked serious.

"Lon…. do…." gasped Malachi. "I…. I…. tried to do…. what I…. thought was…. right. I…."

"Shush. Don't speak."

"I…. must. Must…. explain…."

"You'll be able to explain later. Lennier, try and stop the bleeding. Keep his head up, and…. and…." There must be something else he could remember about first aid techniques. Timov would skin him alive if he'd forgotten. "Ah yes…. and make sure his pulse is as steady as possible. Both hearts need to be working."

"Lon…. do…."

"I'm going after Cartagia, Malachi. I'll be back soon."

"Londo," said Lennier, suddenly, looking up from his position next to Malachi. "He is a very dangerous man. He wants you to follow him."

"I know."

Londo turned and ran after Cartagia. He knew where the Prince would be going, but that didn't matter, as Cartagia had conveniently left marks…. streaks of blood on the walls and doors. Lennier was right, he does want me to follow him.